Catalyst

Chapter Five

When they got to the bus station Phoebe was surprised by the bustle and size of the crowd heading downtown on a Tuesday night. Most of the people looked perfectly normal: couples taking overnight trips, families boarding buses with crying children, workers headed home. But what caught Phoebe's attention was a cluster of four women in their forties clutching overly large handbags and whispering, heads tucked close in conspiracy. Snippets of speech reached her ears. Blurbs about spoiled princesses and cheating husbands, dirty secrets dribbling out of their gaping mouths like broken fountains. They reminded her of mythical women from Hades, graying skin and cavernous holes for eyes, poison leaking from their skin, plopping into puddles on the ground. She didn't know why they seemed so evil to her, but one of the women, who was sporting a stylish black bob and a greasy face looked right at her as she and James passed them.

She clutched James' hand more tightly although her fingers were sweating. The women tracked them, all silent and staring. Phoebe's warning system was a tingling lava burn on her fingertips and elbows, but she kept her eyes trained straight ahead as they walked further into the bus depot where they could buy a set of tickets. The walls were gray and cracked with age, bright green stripes on the wall pointing to different terminals and an underground station for the more elite company buses that were headed to casinos or retreats. Cataloging all the different exits made her feel safer. There were plenty of directions to run.

James' hand started to sweat as well. Was he feeling the same unease? The same prickling at the back of his neck as the women watched them with predators' eyes?

"Can you hear what they're saying?" she asked through the corner of her mouth.

He nodded and said nothing while they waited in line. So they were being watched. James was aware of them too.

"Are they... you know...?" she whispered. She avoided the word hunter, but he could hear it beneath her words.

He shook his head the slightest bit while he meticulously perused the board of impending departure times. Suddenly he laughed, surprising Phoebe enough that she jumped in her skin, and he put his arm around her shoulders, hugging her to his side.

"Don't be ridiculous;" he shook his head, "we'll get there in time, stop worrying!" After a wink and a second's pause she forced a small laugh. This was the game now, she realized. Act normal. Act happy. Safe. They weren't running. They weren't suspicious. Just going on a trip. Another couple heading to a romantic getaway, to a hotel somewhere new with soft towels and flower petals.

"You're right. It's going to be great! I'm not worried." Nervous that she was too loud, or not loud enough, she bobbed on the soles of her feet and pretended to look excited. He swung their clenched hands and smiled at her.

"You have a lot still left to explain to me," she mouthed in the quietest voice she could manage while still holding her grin. A chubby woman inside the glass booth took James' bills as he slid them under the half-circle space provided.

"I will."

He didn't say when, but it needed to be pretty damn soon. She was becoming paranoid and every face looked suspicious. The women were back to scanning the crowds and murmuring loudly about plastic surgery as Phoebe followed James onto a bus headed for Boston. The air conditioning seemed to crackle against her skin and when a man in a baggy coat shifted as they walked past his row she started, tripping over her own foot. James caught her arm and whispered "breathe," his mouth brushing over her hair in a caress. Taking in air seemed a bit easier after that.

He picked a couple of empty seats in the back and pushed their bags beneath them.

"Can we talk here?" she asked.